


Pressure

by Luka



Series: We're a team [5]
Category: Rugby RPF, Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Established Relationship, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 03:23:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18932419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: It's the end of a long season for George, but the ramifications of him and Owen coming out are still in the news. And there's a conversation that he'd rather not be having ...





	Pressure

**Author's Note:**

> This is the latest instalment in my series that tries to explore what might happen if two international rugby stars came out. It takes place over the final weekend of the English Premiership league season and follows on from Betrayed, United, Division and Together (all posted). And if you haven't seen Jonny answering questions on Kung Fu Panda, go to YouTube now!

The changing room door banged shut and George was alone. He knew he had to go to the bar and chat to the team, but it would be a subdued group of lads. They'd lost their final Premiership game of the season to Bath by just one point, which just about summed up what had been a truly shitty season. And to add to it all, Leicester had announced in the week that they were releasing a load of players - including his brother Joe.

There was a loud knock on the door. 

"Yeah?" George didn't even have the energy to walk over and open the door. He was used to being tired at the end of a long season, but this fatigue, both mental and physical, was on a totally different level.

“Hello, George.” Eddie Jones' beaming face appeared around the door. He was clearly doing his benevolent Uncle Eddie act. But George noted he’d waited until the changing room was almost empty. Presumably he'd been at the match to watch Ruaridh McConnochie - the lad looked like a cracking prospect.

“Hello, Eddie. You OK?”

“Fine, fine. Have you got ten minutes for a drink?”

“Sure.” In reality, George was desperate to get away and drive down to Owen’s. But you could hardly say no to the England coach.

Eddie chatted brightly about that day’s results as they went into the bar and claimed a table in a corner. 

"Congratulations on your two awards, George. And being top scorer in the Premiership is impressive, given how often you were away on international duties."

"Thanks." George had picked up both the supporters' and the players' player awards for Leicester, plus the golden boot award for most Premiership points. But he'd have swapped them all in a heartbeat for the Tigers to have performed better all season.

“So, how are you and Owen doing?”

“Yeah, OK, thanks.”

“Nasty business last weekend. I hear Saracens have banned the fan for life.”

George nodded.

"It's just the sort of story that the game can do without …"

“Is that another way of saying that you think we should have kept quiet?”

Eddie regarded him levelly for a moment or so, then said: “It's not. And it's not for me to say whether you should have stayed quiet about your private lives. You’re both strong role models, and the sport needs that. You were honest with me from the start, and your relationship has never impacted on the England set-up. And I wouldn’t expect it to, knowing how professional you two lads are. Before this, how many other people knew, apart from me?”

“Our families, Ben and Jonny here, and Jamie and Brad at Saracens.”

“Were your parents OK about it?”

“Yeah, fine. Our dads both nodded, then went back to talking about defensive tactics!”

Eddie smiled. “I can imagine.”

There was a silence and George sipped his drink. He had a pretty good idea what was bothering Eddie, but he knew by now that it was better to let the coach get around to a topic himself.

“Have you and Owen talked to Billy about what he said?”

George had been right. “Owen confronted him almost as soon as it happened, and that’s why we made the Instagram announcement.”

“I heard about the dressing room incident …”

George kept his face blank, but wondered who’d dobbed Owen in to Eddie. His money was on Maro, whose calm manner off the field made him a good peacemaker and who would be intensely uncomfortable about the conflict.

“And since then?”

“I don’t know exactly what Owen’s done, but I thought it best to avoid Billy last Saturday at the Exeter game.”

“And Mako?”

George narrowly resisted the temptation to sigh. Someone at Saracens had clearly been telling tales out of school. “He approached me last weekend to say that Billy didn’t hate us. His concern was ill-feeling in the camp during the World Cup preparations.”

“Is that something that worries you?”

By now George had a humdinger of a headache threatening to crash-land, and he just wanted to curl up in Owen’s arms and sleep. He usually prided himself on his self-control, but all the stress, strain and abuse of the past couple of weeks pushed him over the edge. “I’m more worried by the fact that one of my team-mates, someone I’ve known for years and who I thought I trusted, thinks me and the person I love are gonna go to hell, and that we’re some sort of freak show for wanting to get married, despite the fact it’s not against the law. And I’m also uncomfortable with the fact that I’ve no idea if Mako thinks the same or not, and that makes me uneasy in his presence and makes me wonder if I can still trust him.”

“Maybe he genuinely does want to build bridges.”

“Yeah, maybe …” George was almost beyond caring. “But you know something, Eddie … I’m not prepared to be portrayed as the villain of the piece here. I’ve done nothing wrong and neither has Owen.”

“I don’t think anyone’s suggesting that you have …”

“Yeah, OK.” George had always tried to be the ultimate team man, even when he was dropped or relegated to the bench. He knew bloody well, though, that he was dispensable to England, unlike Billy and Mako, particularly with Danny Cipriani snapping at his heels.

“You look shattered, son.” And now it was back to benevolent Uncle Eddie. 

George shrugged. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ben looking as if he were about to weigh in. George shook his head imperceptibly and Ben frowned. Next to him, Jonny was clearly uneasy, and that often boded some sort of incident.

“What’s happened won’t have the slightest effect on my selection choices for the World Cup. There’s probably peace talks to be had at some stage, but let’s let the dust settle.”

“Yeah …”

“You go and get some rest, and I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“OK. Thanks, Eddie.” And George knew that was the closest he’d ever get to the coach assuring him that his place in the squad wouldn’t be affected by what was happening.

The moment Eddie had got up and gone over to chat to Dan and Ellis, Ben and Jonny were straight into the seats next to George.

“You OK, kiddo?” Ben was clearly concerned.

“Yeah, I think so.” 

“You look like shit on a stick. Are you going down to Owen’s tonight?”

George nodded. He was desperate to be down there, but not looking forward to an hour and a half’s drive. And he desperately didn’t want to have to explain the conversation with Eddie to Ben and Jonny for the time being.

“Right, I’ll drive you.”

“And I’ll come and share the driving,” said Jonny.

George started to protest, but Ben said: “Neither of us has just played 80 minutes, and then had to deal with Eddie in interrogation mode. Get your bag. We’re leaving in five minutes. And you can have a kip on the way down.”

And George was too exhausted to argue.

***

He curled up on the back seat of the car and was asleep even before they’d got to the M1. He woke up once, to hear the murmur of music from the radio and Ben and Jonny talking quietly.

“Is your shoulder OK with all this driving?” he asked vaguely.

“It’s fine,” said Ben.

“How are you two gonna get home?”

“We’ll catch the train back in the morning and my missus can pick us up from the station, or we’ll get a taxi.”

“I’ve already texted Faz to say we’re on the way, and he says we can kip at his tonight,” said Jonny.

“Great,” said George, and promptly went back to sleep.

The next thing he knew was that Jonny was now driving and Ben was saying: “Kiddo, we need you to talk us in from the motorway junction. This sodding satnav needs a degree in rocket science to operate it and if I let Jonny at it, we’ll end up in Inverness!”

“Yeah, OK.” George sat up and raked his fingers through his hair. He felt like he’d been drugged. He looked around to get his bearings and spotted one of the blue motorway signs. “OK, it’s next junction, left at the top of the slip road and then right at the roundabout …”

***

It was nearly 11pm when Ben parked the car immaculately outside Owen’s house. Almost immediately the front door opened and Owen enveloped George in a hug and kissed him on the forehead and then on the lips, seemingly not caring that the other two were there.

“You look knackered, our kid …”

“I slept most of the way …”

“Come on in. Dump your bags there. You hungry?”

They all looked at each other and nodded. George realised he hadn’t eaten anything since the energy bar he’d had straight after the match.

“OK. I can phone for a takeaway, or I’ve got stacks of bread if you want toast.”

“That counts as a gourmet meal in this house!” said George.

Owen gave him the finger and then reached out and touched his cheek surprisingly gently. “Bed for you soon, Georgie …” 

And George was too tired to give him grief for using the childhood nickname in front of the others.

They went through into the kitchen and Owen stuck the kettle on for tea, then opened the cupboards and pulled out some pots of jam, marmalade and honey. “I dunno if these are still edible. Me mam left them when they moved. Hang on, there’s some chocolate spread as well. I’m surprised that got past our Gabe.”

George decided not to point out that Owen’s parents had moved to Ireland getting on for three years ago. He sat down at the kitchen table and wrapped his fingers around a mug of tea. 

Owen set a plate of toast in front of him, and pushed some butter over. “Get this down you.”

“Thanks.”

In the end it felt rather like a midnight feast, as Owen set up a production line of toast and they all scarfed down three or four slices each. Jonny braved the chocolate spread and pronounced it fit for human consumption. They then shared two tubs of Phish Food ice cream with random handfuls of fruit on top, garnished with the scrapings of the slightly stale chocolate spread.

“Right,” said Owen. “You get yourself to bed, our kid, and I’ll sort these two out. The little bedroom’s rammed full of me gym stuff, so you two can either top and tail in the double bed, or one of you can sleep on the sofa.”

“Ben can have the bed and I’ll sleep on the sofa,” said Jonny magnanimously.

“Only because you know I’ll yell at you for snoring or for trying to discuss nuclear physics at 3am,” said Ben, but he smiled indulgently at his eccentric team-mate.

“It wasn’t nuclear physics! It was the Hadron Collider I was talking about,” said Jonny, looking wounded.

George headed off an obscure argument by hugging both of his team-mates, which took the wind out of their sails, as he didn’t usually do touchy-feely. “Thanks,” he said simply.

Ben ruffled his hair. “You’re welcome, kiddo. See you in the morning.”

George had cleaned his teeth and was snuggled under the duvet when Owen came upstairs.

“You got them sorted?” asked George.

“Yeah. They’re good lads.”

“The best,” said George simply, and promptly fell asleep.

***

George awoke the following morning to the unrivalled sensation of warm lips feathering kisses across every centimetre of his face. And strong fingers were carding through his hair.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey to you too, our kid!”

George wrapped himself around Owen so he could return the kisses, his fingers stroking the muscles in his lover’s shoulders and then tracing down his spine.

Owen rolled George onto his back and knelt over him. “Relax and let me make it good for you …”

It was gentle, loving and George never wanted it to end. Each time those large hands touched him, it felt like every nerve end was electric.

“Love ya, Georgie.”

“Love you too so much,” whispered George, trying to steady his breathing.

“No one’s gonna separate us.”

***

Downstairs, Ben was brewing tea. Jonny was on the sofa watching the cartoons channel with just his head showing from beneath the duvet.

“Please tell me that’s not Kung Fu Panda,” said George.

“Of course not! It’s Dora the Explorer. She’s a great role model for girls. And you get to learn Spanish!”

Owen said quickly: “Unless you all want another meal of toast, let’s go out for brekkie. There’s a good greasy spoon down the road.”

Once Jonny had been persuaded to turn off the TV and have a shower, they set off on foot for the cafe. In the event it turned out to be clean and perfectly respectable. And it was run by a family who seemed to be Greek or Turkish, and clearly had no idea who the four super-fit young men each tucking into a fry-up were. 

Ben, showing admirable restraint, waited till they’d finished eating before interrogating George on the conversation with Eddie. Owen listened impassively, but George could tell by his body language that he was tense about the whole thing.

“You and Owen definitely aren’t in the wrong,” said Ben. “And remember, we’ve got your back, kiddo.”

“Always,” said Jonny fervently.

George’s peripatetic upbringing trailing around the world with a rugby coach father had meant he was immensely close to his family, but he’d never really made close friends beyond Owen. So he was touched by how Ben and Jonny always seemed to be there for him. 

“You two are the best,” he said, and buried his emotions in drinking the rest of his mug of tea.

***

“I’d like to know who dobbed us in to Eddie,” said George. They’d dropped Ben and Jonny off at the railway station, and then had decided on a walk around the lake at a nearby nature reserve.

Owen shrugged and grunted noncommittally, aiming a kick at an innocent twig. “Eddie’s got the best informer system in the bloody universe.”

“My first thought was Maro.”

“Could be. I dunno. He hasn’t said anything at all to me about our relationship.”

“It just about sums up a lousy fucking week. And Leicester are getting rid of our Joe.”

“Shit. When did they announce that?”

“Wednesday.”

“Does he know yet what he’s gonna do?”

George shook his head.

“Fuck.” Owen subsided into silence. And he remained monosyllabic all the way back to the house.

***

They were curled up together on the sofa watching a recording of the Catalan Dragons v Wigan rugby league match from the Nou Camp when their phones started to go berserk. A quick check on the BBC site revealed that Rugby Australia had confirmed the sacking of Israel Folau and that the player had said he wouldn’t appeal against the decision.

“Yessssss!” snarled Owen.

“He’ll take it through the fucking courts, though, and it’ll drag on for years,” said George bitterly.

Owen looked at his phone again. “Our media guy says the BBC, Sky and the national papers are asking for a quote from us.”

“Yeah, OK.” George reached for a scrap of paper and a pen, and then scribbled his thoughts down. 

He showed it to Owen, who nodded and reached for his phone. “Hello mate. Yeah, here’s a quote you can use. It’s from both George and me. Yeah, great. See you tomorrow.”

***

_In a statement tonight, England internationals Owen Farrell and George Ford, who recently became the only openly gay players in top level rugby, told the BBC: “Folau’s entitled to his religious views, but he should have also realised that he has a responsibility to the game, given his high profile and how much he’s paid by Rugby Australia. He can claim all he likes that he didn’t intend to hurt anyone, but what he said was horrible for kids struggling with their sexuality. And he’s now made it virtually impossible for any Australian player to come out. It’s why we think it’s so important for us to be visible and let those kids know that they’re not alone.”_


End file.
